


Be My Light In the Dark (fka A Light In The Dark)

by Fenix21



Series: The Grace We Live By [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Mpreg, Miscarriage, Pre-Canon, Pre-Series, Sick Dean Winchester, Swearing, Young Dean Winchester, Young Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-13
Updated: 2014-10-13
Packaged: 2018-02-21 02:25:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2451209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fenix21/pseuds/Fenix21
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean came to slowly. He rolled his head back and realized his was slumped haphazardly against the cold porcelain of the old claw foot tub. His mouth tasted sour and dry and his throat was raw from heaving up acid. His back ached from the force of his retching, and…he groaned, hand flying to his abdomen.</p>
<p>The sharp cramp left him breathless. He struggled to sit up, boot heels skidding a little on the slick tile floor as he scrambled back against the wall, and doubled up when another cramp grabbed him.</p>
<p><em>Shit, not now. Please, not now. </em> Dean squeezed his eyes shut and bit down on his lip to keep back another groan.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Dean suffers a miscarriage at ten weeks and tries to keep it from Sammy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Be My Light In the Dark (fka A Light In The Dark)

**Author's Note:**

> This is a companion piece to Light and Dark: By Grace You Live. It is Dean's POV of his first miscarriage when he was seventeen. It will stand by itself, but reading the other will put it in better context for you. Hope you enjoy!
> 
> I don't own anything, just borrowing for a bit.
> 
> Comments both critical and complimentary are always welcome.

“Dean.” John rapped on the bathroom door. “Hey. Dean. You all right?”

Dean gripped the edge of the sink and the toilet tank and tried to keep from passing out as stars sparked in his vision from the last round of dry heaving. He gagged a little, breathed deep to try and forestall the surge from his diaphragm and just managed to swallow the urge back down. He moved over to the sink, leaning on his forearms, and splashed cold water in his face.

“Dean?” John’s voice was starting to ring with worry. 

This was the first time he’d caught Dean puking this badly. Most of the time this shit happened in the morning or early afternoon. It had caught him off guard tonight.

Dean rinsed his mouth, spit, splashed more water on his face and then reached for a towel and the door at the same time, sure that John would come through it in another moment if he didn’t answer him. 

“Yeah, Dad.” Dean leaned heavily into the frame, steadying himself with his shoulder and mopping his face dry.

John looked at him speculatively, took in the haggard, gaunt face; the dark circles under his eldest son’s eyes that were emphasized by his sudden extreme pallor. He wondered where and when Dean had started looking like one of the ghosts they hunted and why he hadn’t taken notice sooner.

“Dean, I’ve got to…” John drifted off, his responsibility to his son at war with his need to follow this lead Bobby had just called about. He pressed his lips into a thin line and gave a sharp shake of his head. Family came first. That’s what he was always trying to teach his boys. “No. I’ll stay here.”

He said it almost more to convince himself of his own actions than to inform his son. 

Dean tried to boost himself away from the doorframe, straighten up into some semblance of his usual self, but failed at the last second and crashed back against the wood with a thick swallow against another wave of nausea. 

John’s fingers twitched like he wanted to reach out, but he kept his hands at his sides. He’d taught his eldest boy independence above everything else, to put his toughest face to the world. Never let them see you bleed, he’d drilled into his head.

“Dad, go,” Dean said. “I heard you talking to Bobby. Go. You’ll hate yourself if you don’t.”

John looked torn, but Dean knew in the end he would go, and that’s what Dean wanted. What he didn’t want was for his father to be around to witness what he had a suspicion was coming. 

“Dean, I…”

Dean rolled his eyes, gave his best impression of his usual smirk. “I’m fine. I think that burger I had this afternoon disagreed with me,” he lied, hoping John wouldn’t remember that Dean had only managed a couple of bites of said burger in the first place. “I think I got it out of my system. Sam’s already asleep. I’ll just crash and be good as new in the morning. Go. You need to do this.”

John nodded, a little hesitantly at first, then with more certainty as he let Dean’s reasoning sink in and reassure him. “It’ll take me a few days just to get there. I don’t know what the lay of the land will be, so I’ll call and try and let you know what’s going on and how long I’ll be. Okay?”

Dean felt his stomach roll again, forcing another wave of acid up his throat. He nodded sharply. He needed to get back in the bathroom. Now. 

“Fine, Dad. Fine. Now get outta here, already.”

John smiled at his son, gave him a quick one-armed hug and patted his shoulder as reassuringly as he could. “I’ll call you from the road.”

Dean lifted a hand in acknowledgement as John disappeared down the stairs and then whirled back to the bathroom, kicking the door shut with his foot and dropping to his knees over the toilet just as his back arched up with the fierce effort to empty his stomach yet again.

~~~

“Dean, you in there?”

Dean came to slowly. He rolled his head back and realized his was slumped haphazardly against the cold porcelain of the old claw foot tub. His mouth tasted sour and dry and his throat was raw from heaving up acid. His back ached from the force of his retching, and…he groaned, hand flying to his abdomen.

The sharp cramp left him breathless. He struggled to sit up, boot heels skidding a little on the slick tile floor as he scrambled back against the wall, and doubled up when another cramp grabbed him. 

_Shit, not now. Please, not now._ Dean squeezed his eyes shut and bit down on his lip to keep back another groan.

“Dean? Come on, man. I need to pee!”

Sammy. Shit, Sammy was awake. 

Dean rolled up onto his knees, breathing against another cramp, clenching his teeth hard. “Just…hold your damn horses!” He could hear Sam shifting impatiently from foot to foot outside the door. He got his feet under him and pushed upward. His vision grayed a little as a searing, tearing sensation cut through his lower belly. 

“Gagh…” He couldn’t help the half groan, half cry that escaped him.

“Dean?” Sam’s voice went suddenly soft, worried. A lot like John’s. “Dean, you okay?”

Dean managed the door, swung it open. Fist still pressed into his gut he pushed past Sam and stumbled toward John’s room. No way was he going to his own bed in the room he and Sammy shared.

“Just a bad burger, kid. Forget it,” he threw over his shoulder before he pressed John’s door carefully closed so as not to incite Sam’s anger or suspicion with a slam. The kid was perceptive, too much so when it came to Dean a lot of times, and he certainly didn’t need his baby brother sticking his nose into this awful business.

Dean dropped onto the bed, trying to remember to breathe. Another cramp grabbed him and he brought his knees up and rolled onto his side on the mattress, biting down on his fist as a tear leaked out of his eye. He’d known this would hurt, but he really hadn’t had any idea how much. He lay there, breathing in measured little huffs, imagining that it helped hold the pain at bay while he felt his insides slowly being torn like wet wallpaper off rotted sheetrock. 

There were footsteps outside the door. A soft knock. “Dean?”

Dean couldn’t find it in himself to answer without crying out in pain. He stuffed his face into the nearest pillow as another strip of his insides was clawed away. There was pressure building in his pelvis, adding to the sharp, stripping pain in his belly. He caught the pillow in a fist and bit down into it just as Sam carefully opened the door a crack and poked his nose in. 

“Dean, you okay?” When Sam didn’t get any kind of answer, he came into the room slowly, navigating in the dark toward the curled up lump of his brother on John’s bed. “Come on, Dean, you’re scaring me.”

Sam’s voice was pitched a little high, and Dean could indeed hear the fear vibrating under an amateur false bravado. His hand snapped out and grabbed Sam’s.

“Ow! Dean, you’re—.” Sam’s voice cut off and he stilled his instant struggle against his older brother’s grip when he realized Dean wasn’t trying to hurt him or restrain him—he was holding on. For dear life.

Sam crawled up on the bed, kneeling on the mattress, leaning down close to Dean’s face, now stroking the hand that was gripping his own with bruising force. “Dean. Tell me what you need. Tell me what to do.”

More tears squeezed out from under Dean’s lashes. Jesus! The kid was thirteen years old, and he was acting like he was thirty, trying to calm his wimpy, dumbass big brother who was just paying for his pleasures in the worst way. He did not want Sam exposed to this. _Could_ not expose Sam to this. If he knew the truth…well, Dean wasn’t sure he’d survive that pain. The pain of Sam’s disappointment in him when he realized his big brother was just as human as the next guy.

That thought renewed Dean’s resolve, and he took a huge breath, letting it out slowly. He loosened his grip on Sam’s fingers and lifted his head out of the pillow. “Bring me the phone, Sammy, and go get some jeans on.”

Sam hesitated, uncertain if he should actually leave his brother alone. 

“Sam, go. Go get dressed. Pack a couple days worth and get your school books.” Dean finished on a rasp that made Sam flinch in his grasp and lean forward, a little panicked. Dean disentangled his hand from Sam’s, reached to tousle the kid’s hair with a weak grin. “Go get me the phone. Please.”

Sam nodded and scurried out of the room. 

When he got back up stairs with Dean’s cell from the charger in the kitchen, Dean had managed to get himself sitting on the edge of the bed, albeit still hunched over and breathing erratically. He took the phone from Sam’s trembling hand, flipped it open and speed dialed Pastor Jim. Sam hung around for a few seconds, still uncertain he should leave Dean until his brother made a shooing motion with his hand, and Sam left with an uncomfortable shrug of his shoulders to get his stuff together. 

The line rang several times while Dean held his breath and practically prayed for Jim to pick it up.

“Hello?”

“Jim? Hey, it’s Dean Winchester.” Dean forced his voice to as even a level as he could mange, but it wasn’t quite enough.

“Dean? Everything all right?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he answered quickly. “Everything’s fine. I’m sorry for it being late and all, but, well, Dad called from the road and needs my help. Can I—can I maybe leave Sam with you for a day or two?”

Jim seemed to be considering. It wasn’t that he wouldn’t take Sam; of course, he would take Sam. It was more like he was evaluating the truth in Dean’s words. Dean held his breath.

“Sure, Dean, sure. No problem. You bringing him over now?”

“Yeah, I’ll be there in about forty minutes.”

“Good,” Jim said. “I’ll be waiting.”

Dean flipped the phone shut and doubled over with another intense cramp, worse than the others.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” he gasped, fists pressed into his belly, panting between his knees trying to stay conscious.

“Dean!” Sam came into the room, skidded down onto his knees, eye level with Dean if he could have raised his head up. “Dean, you are not okay. Dad didn’t call, and he doesn’t need you. Please! Tell me what’s going on!”

Sam’s hands were big for his overall size and they were strong where they gripped Dean’s shoulders. Dean always kind of thought of Sam as a large breed puppy in the respect that his hands and feet were three sizes to big for him right now, indicating he was going to probably surpass both Dean and John in just a few short years in the height department. For now though, they were big and warm and trembling on Dean, and it made his heart break that he couldn’t be truthful with his brother. Sam deserved that much, but Dean wanted to preserve his innocence just a little longer if that was possible; and his pride was at stake, too. It would crush Sam to know what was really happening to his brother. 

Again, the thought of Sam figuring this all out galvanized Dean into sitting up, slowly, gently pushing aside Sam’s hands and forcing himself to stand. “Got your stuff, Sammy?” he asked tightly. Sam nodded automatically. “Okay. Grab your jacket and go get in the car.”

Sam obeyed reluctantly, and Dean followed right behind him.

~~~

The drive was torture. Dean could hardly sit in the Impala’s seat for the pressure in his pelvis, and the cramps were starting to get viciously regular in his belly. The tearing sensation had subsided a little, but the painful cramping squeeze nearly knocked the breath out of him every time. 

Sam sat in the backseat, clutching his backpack in his lap and keeping his tense and worried gaze focused on Dean in the rearview mirror. Dean caught his eye and gave him a strained smile.

“It’s okay, Sammy. I promise it’s okay. I’m gonna be fine, you hear?” He tried to inject his voice with as much calm and reassurance as he could muster past the waves of pain. “It’s nothing for you to worry about; and I don’t want to go worrying Pastor Jim either, so you just keep this to yourself. Okay, Sam?”

Sam considered this briefly, but something in Dean’s eyes must have convinced him, and he nodded mutely. Promise of silence secured from Sammy, Dean drove the rest of the way without a word.

Jim’s porch light was on and Dean dropped Sam at the curb, telling him again to not utter a word to Jim about anything. Sam nodded again, though the look on his face was pained because he was being left behind when all he really wanted to do was help his brother. Dean watched Sam make it to the door and saw it open and then pulled away before Jim could even raise a hand in greeting.

Dean drove and kept driving, out past the edge of town, turning down some old abandoned farm road with nothing but a county number to name it. He drove until the pressure in his pelvis was too much to bear and the cramps were coming at him in a solid wall of searing pain. He pulled off the road into a turnaround that might once have been used for the tractors that tilled this now overgrown field and killed the Impala’s engine. 

His hands white knuckled the steering wheel and he finally let out a pathetic cry now that there was no one to hear him. He panted and moaned his way through another wave of cramps that were bordering on something he would call contractions if he was sure of what those were supposed to feel like. He maneuvered himself sideways on the bench seat and instinctively bucked his hips upward with the next pain, the pressure increasing to almost unbearable levels. He fished over the seat back for a spare blanket. No way he was making a mess all over his Dad’s baby. He managed to lift his butt and get the blanket under him just as another cramp doubled him up and the pressure that had been building and building suddenly released a tiny bit in a terrifying, hot, wet rush between his thighs.

He jerked open his jeans and thrust his hand between his legs. His fingers met hot, wet, and sticky, and Dean didn’t need to see the dark red staining his fingertips to know it was blood. He shuddered, then trembled, then outright shook like a man suffering hypothermia. He briefly wondered if he was going into shock but figured it was more likely just the sudden potent evidence of what was happening to him making everything seem vibrantly real that was making him shake and shudder so much.

He’d known about the baby for almost a month, and he’d spent that entire month trying to figure out just what to do about it. He hadn’t bothered with finding the father, wasn’t sure anyway who it might be. There were about half a dozen possibilities, and he didn’t really give a damn about any of them. They’d been good fucks, but he barely remembered their names. Such was the way he played. 

What with winter giving over to an uncommonly fair spring, John had been out on the hunt quite a bit, and the longer excursions meant Dean had to stay at home with Sam so he could keep up with school. He was grateful for that when the puking had started in with a vengeance. Every morning and most days into the early afternoon. Fortunately, Sam was usually on his way to school by the time it started, and Dean was okay again except for a pretty nonexistent appetite by the time he got home. He’d explored his options—keeping it not being one of them—and was about to make a couple phone calls when _this_ had started. Seems fate decided to lend a helping hand.

“Couldn’t make it a bit less fucking painful, could you!” Dean yelled as another contraction gripped his belly. Yup, they were definitely contractions. This was way beyond your average cramp. He’d had the stomach flu enough times to know the difference. 

It made him feel a little better not to have to hold back against the pain now. He could yell and cry all he wanted and no one was going to hear him. He grabbed the tough leather of the seat back and pitched forward, gritting his teeth through another round of pain, feeling another gush of heat and wet between his legs. He didn’t know how much blood there would be, or how much was normal or safe. All he could do was lay there in the dark and wait it out, hoping that it would stop or at least diminish enough that he could go back to the house and clean up and function through the rest of the process.

It was going to take a few days, he knew that much, or at least he thought he remembered something about it from some sex-ed class or something he’d taken in high school at some point when he’d bothered to even attend class. Hopefully, the worst would abate soon, though, and he could muddle his way back to normal with a minimal of worry and questions from either Sam or John. 

He dropped his head back to the cool window glass as the pain momentarily released him and turned his cheek to it with a grateful sigh. The windows had started to steam up with his exertions and he laughed caustically at what suspicions an outside view of this situation would raise. Very similar to the situation that had gotten him into this mess in the first place. 

“Jesus…Christ…ahhh…gah!” Dean gave up to the next round and howled his way through it, panting down to the end and collapsing back into the door, window crank stabbing him under the shoulder blade; but he didn’t care, that kind of discomfort was so insignificant right now. Before he could even catch his breath, another pain was squeezing and tearing, sending more blood gushing out of him, and his phone chose that moment to ring. 

_Jesus don’t be Dad. Please, do not be Dad…_ Dean squinted at the phone as it continued to ring persistently and saw that it was Sam’s number. His heart leaped into his throat. Why was Sam calling him? What had happened? Was he okay?

He fumbled the phone, flipped it open, smashed it to his ear. “Sammy!”

“Dean?” Sam’s voice trembled on the other end.

“Sam, what’s wrong? What’s happened?” Dean asked, biting down on the words harder than he meant to as another contraction tore at him.

“N-nothing’s wrong,” came Sam’s trembling answer.

Dean’s stomach plummeted in relief. “Jesus…”

Hesitation on the other end of the line. “Dean, are you sure you’re okay?”

Dean tilted his head back against the window, closed his eyes. He smiled weakly even though Sam wasn’t there to see it. “Yeah, Sammy. I’m okay. I told you.”

“I don’t believe you,” Sam said tremulously.

Dean’s heart broke again. Why did the kid have to be so perceptive, so sensitive? It was going to get him killed one day if he and John couldn’t find a way to thicken his skin; but for right now, Dean found he was grateful for it. He’d wanted to do this alone, away from everything and everyone, so there would be no evidence. Even going back to the empty house had been off the list as he was somehow afraid the walls might tell his secret. He’d stayed in the Impala only because he needed something—anything—of comfort to hang onto while he tried to make it to the other side of this by himself. He’d have to deal with the memories of his blood spilling in here like this for a long while to come, but that wouldn’t be any different than the times he and John had gotten bloodied on hunts and had to patch and bind themselves up enough by the dim glow of the dome lights so that they could get home.

Sam’s voice on the other end of the line was acting as an anchor, letting the intense pain break over him in fierce torrents but not sweep him away with the current. Dean breathed in and let the pain take him, wash over his body, wring more blood from him; but it was easier this time somehow with Sam on the other end even if he didn’t know or understand what was going on.

“Sammy…”

“Dean. Dean! You stay with me. Do you hear me? Stay. With. Me.” Sam’s voice was forceful and there was iron under the panic that made Dean smile with pride. 

“‘M here, Sammy. Not going anywhere,” Dean panted.

“Dean, please. Please! Just—just let me come help you,” Sam begged. Dean could hear tears in his voice. Big fat ones that were rolling down his cheeks right now. “Please…Dean.”

Dean gathered himself, forced himself to focus. “Sam. I’m all right. I swear to you. I’m coming back for you. Day after tomorrow. I promise. Now you just—.”

“Please don’t make me hang up, Dean,” Sam begged hurriedly. “Please! I’ll shut up, I promise. I won’t make a sound. Or I’ll talk! I’ll talk all night…if it would help you?”

Dean laughed. It was thready and uncertain, but it was a laugh, an astonished one, one that spoke volumes about how his baby brother could still surprise him after all these years. “Okay, Sammy. Okay. You just…talk. Talk all you want.”

And Sam did. Dean muted the phone, turned on the speaker, and propped it on the dash and listened to the sound of Sammy babbling about schoolwork and the soccer team; one of his teachers who was trying to help get him into an AP English class at the high school; this girl that he really liked but who didn’t even know he existed and the class bully whom Sam had taken out with a solid punch to the solar plexus last week thereby securing his role as protector of the seventh grade geeks.

Sam talked and talked while Dean rode the pain through the long hours of the night. Somewhere around dawn, Dean realized that Sammy had drifted off and the pain had abated so that he could breath again and focus enough to see the graying, abandoned landscape around him through the windshield. He sighed heavily, exhausted beyond measure and pulled the phone off the dash.

“Sammy? Hey baby brother…”

“Mmph,” came the muffled replied, then a sleepy, “Dean?”

“Yeah, Sammy.”

“You okay now?”

Dean laughed again, softly. It was stronger this time. He nodded into the phone. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay now. You go back to sleep, huh?”

There was a long pause and Dean nearly hung up, thinking Sam had already drifted off, but then a sleepy whisper came over the line. “See you tomorrow?”

“Promise,” Dean said quietly. “Good night, Sammy.”

“‘Night…Dean.”

The line went quiet.

Dean shifted on the seat tentatively. His middle still hurt, but the pressure was mostly gone, though his jeans were stiff with who knew how much dried and crusted blood. There was no help for it. He’d probably have to burn them. Along with the blanket he was on, he thought as he looked between his thighs to take stock of last night’s damage now that he could see. It wasn’t nearly as bad as it had felt. His jeans were a total loss, it was true, but the blanket was only spotted and could probably be passed off after a good washing as a past stain from either he or John after some particularly nasty altercation.

He gingerly dropped his feet to the floor and, finding that he seemed pretty functional beyond a little lightheadedness and the dull ache in his lower back and belly, he turned the key in the ignition and brought the engine to life, slowly turning the Impala toward home.

~~~

Dean was good on his word and showed up at Pastor Jim’s house at seven-thirty sharp the next morning just as Sam was shoveling the last of his pancakes into his mouth. He froze when he saw Dean in the kitchen doorway, pale and looking a little more gaunt than he had a couple days ago, but his eyes were bright again, alive like he was used to seeing them. He jumped from his chair and barreled into Dean, jarring Dean’s chin upward when he accidentally butted it with the top of his head.

“Damn, Sammy, I think you got taller overnight!” Dean rubbed at his chin and smiled when Sam grinned hugely. “Ready for school?”

Sam nodded vigorously and grabbed his book bag. Dean gave him a stern look and Sam immediately turned around to face Pastor Jim. “Thank you, Pastor Jim, for letting me stay. The pancakes were delicious!”

Jim smiled. “You’re welcome, Sam. Anytime.” He cast a querying glance at Dean. “That goes for the both of you? And your Dad, too.”

Dean held out his hand, keeping the other on Sam who was bobbing anxiously from foot to foot at his side. “Thanks, Jim. I really appreciate it.”

“Like I said, no problem. Sam, finish your juice.”

Sam snatched up his orange juice and chugged it down, smacking his lips satisfyingly. Jim and Dean both grinned.

Sam trailed Dean to the car and upon sliding into the seat beside him which Dean didn’t protest, instead of into the back where John made him sit, all Sam’s seeming excitement bled right out of him. He sat staring at Dean while he put the keys in the ignition and turned the engine over in the early morning chill. 

“Dean?”

“Yeah, Sam?”

“You really okay, now?”

Dean looked over at the shaky note of worry in Sam’s tone. He smiled, genuinely, seeing Sam visibly relax a little at the sight. “Yes. Absolutely.”

Sam fidget a second, looked like he might say something, but then turned to face front and buckle his seat belt. Dean put the Impala in gear and was about to pull out from the curb when he sighed and threw it back in park. 

“Dean?” Sam looked across the car at his older brother, heart beating in his throat.

Dean twisted in the seat, leaned over enough to tousle Sam’s hair and then cup his jaw in one broad palm that wouldn’t be broad enough in very much longer. He looked earnestly into Sam’s hazel eyes. “Sam, thank you.”

Sam’s eyes were wide at this out of character show of affection. “F-for what?”

Dean smiled. “Talking. Just…thank you for talking. It…saved me.”

Sam nodded mutely, knowing that if he asked Dean to elaborate, he wasn’t going to get anything but a lie or a brush-off. It was written clearly in his brother’s soft mossy eyes right behind his earnest thanks that whatever had happened the other night, neither of them were going to speak of it again. To anyone. Ever.

Dean nodded, too, and dropped his hand, turning back around. He threw the Impala back in gear and pulled out, simultaneously cranking the volume on the radio.

“De-ean!” Sam whined in immediate protest. He pulled a face at Dean and covered his ears.

Dean grinned and hooked a wrist over the steering wheel, calling out over Van Halen’s guitar, “Suck it up, bitch!”

Yup, Dean was definitely back to normal. Sam grinned despite himself. “Jerk!”


End file.
